Excuses
by difficile
Summary: It was merely because it had been so, so long. Nothing else – that he could assure…right? Basch/Balthier.


**_a/n: I feel like a traitor to Balthier/Vaan..._**

**_believe it or not, it's rude not to review._**

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_xvi – excuses_

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He assures himself, as he lies side by side in the fulminating darkness next to this younger man, that is was merely because it had been far too long since any affection had been passed his way. For Basch fon Ronsenburg of Landis is not interested in men – he is a born and bred warrior, through the scars and false accusations.

Warriors do not meddle in romantic follies, especially if said follies were with other men; that fact was brandished into Basch's mind as a young trainee, and it was always upheld without a second thought. Through the countless battles and seas of bloodshed, romance was never a subject to stray into young Basch's mind, even as a teenager.

It seemed his brother had inherited the healthy hormones enough for two teenage boys back then, while young Basch inclined his preferences to less…_social_ interests. Evenings when Noah would sneak out the second-story of window of their home in peaceful Landis (to fulfill juvinile acts of fornication, Basch would think with disappointment) were nights Basch sought solace in their shared room, reading epic poems by Adémar-Clemece Davies, or tragic plays by the talented mind and hand of Joscelin Gordain.

Basch, however much of a knight he could be in the heated midst of clashing iron and flying, blood-tipped arrows, still had a side of sentiment his brother did not retain. And so he buried himself in his plays and poems about heroes and wars.

But never did his eyes read a word of romance, never did he digest the writings of a heroine or even a damsel in distress. His world of fantasy lacked something that never crossed his mind, and Basch was perfectly content with his ignorance on such a subject, much to his brother's constant chagrin.

Noah and Basch's parents had split when they were quite young, around the age of seven for Basch and four for Noah. At this short point in their lives, their father took custody and flew in a bitter rage across to the other side of Landis, far from where the sad and broken memories of a love unrequited waited for him.

And so Basch and Noah traveled through the years with an ex-knight of Landis himself (far too old and injured in his knee to shed any more blood by his own calloused hands), where they were taught to swear by the foremost traditions of what warriors centuries ago went by, and trained hours on end every day until sibling rivalry tore them to the brink of exhaustion week after week.

Having no experience even witnessing a shrivel of romance between a man and a woman as he grew up, ideas of amour were not present, even deep in dreams.

However, being bound in chains and held fast by the merciless hands of rusted metal for day after day after day (until the deluded and framed Basch lost count), knowing only the caress of deceit and kiss of a blade, the long-lost yearning for human interaction and understanding compassion only grew with the beating of a weak heart. He would hang in silence for days, mulling over concepts and ideas that only a man teetering on the crumbling edge of insanity could possibly concoct.

Rejection and resentment were the only things Basch knew of in that cage suspended above the impending ruin buried within the darkness.

He tried women.

Basch liked women – women were beautiful, graceful beings with enticing smiles and curves that asked for a man's wandering touch and hungry lips.

But Basch just _liked_ women; he understood the above aspects of them, and appreciated them with offhanded observations.

Women were not the only humes on the face of Ivalice, however. There were men that Basch considered once a free and nameless man, and still considers now in the furthest, darkest corners of his mind.

Only the furthest, darkest corners.

For Basch fon Ronsenburg is _not_ interested in men.

…Nor is he interested in women.

Basch fon Ronsenburg is not interested in romance, _period_. For if he is not attracted to women, he cannot be attracted to anything. He _will not_ be attracted to anything. _It is wrong, he tells himself. This is not the path of a warrior, a knight. _

But Basch soon realizes he is not a warrior, nor a knight – those days are long gone, buried beneath he ruins of Nabradia and Landis, faded and encrypted in the rust of his cage he left as well.

…But this stunningly handsome man lying next to him soothes this frustration and uncertainty – a past flame, purged by skilled hands and equally as experienced lips, douses slowly.

Balthier knows of passion and seduction; they are subjects this young and lithe man is more than comfortable with, unlike Basch. He touches Balthier with unsure hands, while the sky pirate caresses back with such certainty and confidence that makes the disgraced knight want to tremble.

Basch kisses with inexperienced lips, which Balthier pries open Basch's own with a tongue that makes Basch melt.

Balthier's body is soft and toned, resonating an enticing warmth that Basch's fingers cannot get enough of.

He wonders, briefly, if he deserves such a strong and confident man beneath his touch.

This night…this night of kisses and soft whispers is just a folly for Balthier – it must be.

Half of Basch pains at the concept of being toyed with.

Yet another half is grateful for this experience, for this vast void inside feels filled… if only a tiny bit.

Perhaps it is because it has been so, so long since a human has reached out with a glimmer of promise and clemency.

Perhaps it has been forever since lips have touches his, or hands have intertwined with his own.

Or perhaps it is because this purged flame, this impending ruin, and this fulminating darkness breaks through a barrier set up by past trivialities, and opens up a revelation the jaded Basch needed.

Whatever the reason for tonight's sentiment, this uncertain epiphany swirls around inside Basch's head as he closes his eyes, settling into the warm arms surrounding him.

_A man whose gaze bends ever back cannot hope to find his way forward._

Basch's own words of wisdom echo throughout his head, and the tiniest of smiles graces his lips as he abandons the bonds of his past and submits to the acceptance of the present.

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**_a/n: did you catch the names of Basch's quickenings? I tried to incorporate them..._**


End file.
